


How to date; a comprehensive guide by James Bond

by orphan_account



Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: BAMF Q, Getting Together, I mean no fighting, James Bond Being James Bond, M/M, Q Branch, Tanner just wants to do his job jesus, aka very confused, but he's pretty cool
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-09
Updated: 2016-01-10
Packaged: 2018-05-12 19:48:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,450
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5678467
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bond has seen the movies and read the books: He knows how dating is technically supposed to go down. It’s just that, well – he’s bad at following the rules. Luckily, so is Q.</p><p>Or: Bond and Q start dating, and it’s the exact opposite of every tip that Bond has ever been given.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Bond’s prowess within sexual matters is widely known and, thanks to a few cheeky people in the office not shutting off the recording in time, documented. Bond is good at getting what he wants, and even good at giving other people what they want, as well. 

What he isn’t good at, is relationships. There are, of course, his few and rather tragic attempts, but they’ve always crashed just as hard as they burned. And, as one of the psych evaluators points out to him one time, they’ve always inspired in him and required an upheaval of his normal life, and for him to quit the MI6.

So, Bond isn’t good at relationships. There are tips, though; tips that could help him achieve prowess within this field too, at last. It’s just that they are, well – rather hard to follow.  


* * *

  
**1st tip: Start courting your potential partner slowly, and take time to see how they react to your advances and reciprocate.**

Bond has been watching Q for a while. The young but competent man sparks something of an interest within him: He seems like a paradox, Q does. Both deadly without remorse, and outstandingly skilled within his field, but at the same time prone to large grins and rather endearing outbursts of miff about MI6’s tea supply situation.

Bond really barely considers courting him first, although that would probably be the safer route. It’s just so much faster if he does it his own way. 

He breaks into Q’s flat.

It’s a late Tuesday night, and Bond has made sure that Q isn’t still in the branch, so he must be here. Q lives in an apartment complex, so Bond breaks in through the fire-escape that has a landing directly outside of Q’s living room window. 

Breaking in isn’t difficult at all; this, Bond pretty quickly realises, must mean that Q knows it’s him. He refuses to believe that Q, the man who keeps almost the entirety of SIS safe, is incapable of securing his own flat from intruders. 

He’s right. From the combined kitchen and living room area there are three doors; the entrance one, and then, presumably, the ones to the bathroom and bedroom respectively. All of this Bond notices in the back of his mind. What is infinitely more pressing, is the fact that one of the doors has a stream of yellow light underneath it, between it and where the floor doesn’t quite manage to reach it.

Bond enters. Q is sitting, cross-legged and bare-chested, in the middle of his bed. In front of him is his laptop, open and on. He barely looks up when Bond enters, but Bond sees the slight smirk that is only barely suggested in the tug of his mouth’s corners, illuminated by the laptop screen’s light.

“Bond,” Q says; his tone is contained in the same way that his back is straight and his movements controlled. It’s an act; they both know it. Normally Q’s movements are loose and like shimmies. “What are you doing here?”

Q is only in his pants, and the duvet is pushed aside, so Bond can see almost all of him on display. He wants to see more. Q doesn’t look at him, but continues to watch the screen in front of him. 

“I was thinking,” Bond says, “that I might kiss you.” Q’s smile turns big and obvious. “Would you be horribly opposed?”

Q barely looks like he ponders it, but still purses his lips shortly before he replies:

“No,” he says. 

He looks up then, and when he does his grin is so _there_ that Bond feels a little breathless. He always does. Q doesn’t stop smiling, but bites his lower lip, possibly to make it a big smaller. He closes the laptop, and puts it aside, before he stretches out his legs in front of him. Bond feels the tug at the corner of his own lips when Q flexes his toes; he really is the very opposite of contained.

“Rather the opposite, I should think,” Q continues. 

“Hm,” Bond says. It takes him two steps, one and a quarter of a second, and then his hands are cupping Q’s cheeks and Q is turning his head up towards him without inhibitions. Bond kisses him. 

It hardly has time to be gentle before it stops being that, and instead turns into Q burying his hands in Bond’s hair and drawing him closer, as he opens his mouth for Bond. He tastes like toothpaste and warmth, and Bond wants to take him apart.

Q must want the same, because he grabs onto the lapels of Bond’s jacket with one hand, and tugs. 

“Come closer,” he says. Both his hands come back to Bond’s hair, but this time he uses his grip to pull Bond closer. It’s demanding; Bond likes it. 

He takes his jacket off first, before he does anything else, so all he has on is his tee and his trousers. Then he puts his own hands to Q’s shoulder, and pushes. Q goes willingly back against his own pillows, so Bond crawls over him, knees on either side of his hips. When he moves back in to Q’s lips, they are all teeth instead with his smile. 

“This is exciting,” Q says. Bond kisses down his neck while his mouth is occupied; as he presses in open-mouthed kisses, Q leans his head back to give him better access and snakes his legs around Bond’s hips. “I’m excited to see what it’s all about.”

Bond moves back up to his mouth. Q hums into the kiss, like he is pleased, and shimmers a bit further down the mattress so they’re more evenly aligned. He puts his hands lightly to Bond’s jaw. When Bond lets him put his hands up under Bond’s shirt and pull it off, he gets a look on his face that is somewhere between hooded and satisfied. 

This is the kind of thing that Bond finds infuriatingly attractive about him; this lack of inhibitions is something he is very little used to.

“I hope you mean me,” Bond says, “and not sex in general.”

Q smirks. He turns his head away from Bond and down, so he can look as he pops open the button on Bond’s trousers. Bond kisses down his jaw.

“Is this your way of asking me if I’m a virgin?” Q asks. He pulls down Bond’s zipper as well. Bond is prepared, but still buckles into it a little when Q puts his hand down Bond’s pants to grab him. Q huffs out a breath at his reaction, and smirks again. 

“Maybe,” Bond says. He moves in to kiss Q’s collarbone and gnaw at it, as Q pushes his trousers and pants down to his thighs. He’s positive that Q isn’t; no one could be this comfortable with what is happening right now, and not have done it before. He doesn’t say this, but instead moves down to suck and lap at Q’s nipple.

Q doesn’t reply either; perhaps he knows that Bond is able to figure it out for himself. 

“You know, we’ve been briefed on how we should say ‘no’ if an agent ever tries to seduce us,” he says instead. He lets Bond move down his chest, towards his stomach, and sighs. His hand leaves Bond’s pants, but Bond doesn’t really mind. Not when Q so easily spreads his legs and allows Bond to crawl down between them.

“Oh?” Bond says. Q’s pants are white cotton; Bond is grateful, because that means he’s able to see the wet patch already forming there. When he mouths at it, Q’s sigh turns into something akin to a moan, and he moves further down the mattress, trying to chase it. He doesn’t buckle up towards Bond’s mouth, though; he’s polite. Bond smirks to himself, and grabs the thighs of Q’s bent legs to push them further apart. 

“Yes,” Q breathes; it’s unclear whether it’s a response to Bond’s remark, or an exclamation for him to go on. Either way, it is strained. 

“That’s not a no,” Bond says. When he kisses down the inside of Q’s thigh, Q twitches. God, he is a marvel. 

“Hm,” Q says. He sounds amused. “I don’t want to say no.”

“No?” Bond asks. He’s really only half paying attention. He looks up to receive a nod of permission, before he rids Q of his pants. He’s hard already, but then so is Bond. 

“No,” Q agrees. Now he sounds really strained, but still so immensely pleased. “But I’m still breaking regulations.”

Q pulls away just a slight bit. When Bond looks up, he sees it’s because he’s scrambling in his bedside drawer for something. Bond can figure out what it is, but still takes the tip of Q’s cock in his mouth in revenge for him not paying attention. Q makes a sound that is somewhere between a groan and a whimper. 

“Not fair,” he says, and actually nudges Bond’s head with his knee; it seems, to get even. Bond takes him in all the way instead of pushing him back. Hearing Q’s moan is really the better retaliation. Q’s one hand going back to being fisted in Bond’s hair is an added bonus. 

With the other hand, he places something on the mattress beside Bond. Bond was right; it is lube and a condom. He moves off Q’s cock, and kisses him on the low of his stomach instead. He waits until Q is looking down at him, before he takes the lube bottle in his hands, and squeezes some out, coating his fingers with it. 

“Is this a good enough reason to break regulations?” he asks. 

Q’s eyes spark with a glint of something like mischief, and he smirks, before he spreads his legs even further. Lying back down on the pillow, and getting more comfortable on the mattress, it seems that he’s trying to signal him giving over the control to Bond to do whatever he’d like. 

Bond smirks, too. This he could definitely be all right with; Q, giving in to him. He somehow manages to be demanding and submissive at the same time; it turns Bond on to the point of returning to the feeling of his teenage years of sexual exploration. 

“Certainly,” Q says. “Just make it worth my while, won’t you?”

Bond does.  
__

Afterwards, when they are both aching but sated and satisfied, Q runs his hand down the nape of Bond’s neck to the space between his shoulder-blades and back up. Bond, caught in the moment, keeps kissing Q’s nipple, lying beside him now. 

It’s Q who says, “You’re not sleeping in my bed, you know.” 

His tone is, however, soft; Bond wonders if Q always gets like this after sex – gentle in his demeanour, even more than normal, and physically affectionate. 

Bond hums. When he moves his head to the mattress next to Q’s chest, instead of on top of it, he finds that his nose is nearly buried in Q’s armpit and the hair growing there. Just underneath it, over Q’s ribs, is a mole. Bond kisses it.

“Can I use your shower?” he asks then. Q pats the top of his head.

“Yes,” he says. “You’re even welcome to sleep on the couch. I know what it means. And what it doesn’t, for that matter.”

Bond smiles; Q really is something of a marvel. He wonders what psych would have to say about him shagging Q and then not leaving afterwards, like he always does, but instead staying in his flat. Maybe Q is wrong; maybe it would mean something.

Still, he asks, “What does it mean?”

“That I’m not heartless enough to throw you out now, in the middle of the night, to go find a hotel room to stay in.” Q’s tone sounds like he’s smiling. He’s right, too; Bond would honestly much rather not go through that whole ordeal right now. 

“And what doesn’t it mean?” he asks. This time, Q chuckles softly. The sound of it makes Bond smile, too. He nuzzles his nose into Q’s armpit. 

“That I’m to expect my equipment back in one piece anytime soon, or, for that matter, your hand in marriage.”

Bond, despite himself, laughs, in the way he only does when he is genuinely amused. He hears Q’s laughter mingling when his own, and when he looks up Q’s entire face is scrunched up in that way it gets when his beam is large enough to take over seventy per cent of it. 

For some reason, it makes Bond want to kiss him again. He barely manages, because when he tries, Q’s whole face becomes teeth and grin once more. Bond kisses the corner of his mouth instead, until Q turns his head, and they can meet properly. It’s deep, but not heated. 

“Mm,” Q says then. With his hands on Bond’s shoulders, he gently pushes Bond away. “Go take that shower then.”

Bond does. When he gets out, Q has fetched a pillow and blanket for him, and throws him an orange because, “I was hungry, so I thought you might be, too.” Q gets in the shower too, then, and Bond falls asleep to the sound of the water running.

__

There’s nothing slow about what happened between the two of them that night, but then there isn’t much burning either. There’s simply the slightest of switches. Q is gone already the next morning when Bond wakes, and when Bond goes to see him for an equipment update he is exactly like he’s always been. 

However, when Bond leans in to touch the nape of Q’s neck, Q smiles up at him and says, “You know, I wouldn’t be opposed to you continuing to kiss me either.” 

Bond can’t help his own responding smile. 

“You know what it means?” he asks. Q’s smile turns amused. 

“Indeed,” he says. “And what it doesn’t.”

So, Bond kisses him again. That afternoon he goes on a mission, but the next time he’s in London for the night, he comes by Q’s flat again. This time, he doesn’t have to break in, because Q opens the window for him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Who has time for build-up, right? Not Bond, certainly.


	2. Chapter 2

**2nd tip: Be kind to them, and do little things for them that they’d like**

It’s not exactly that they start dating, it’s just that they start spending increasingly more time together outside of work. There’s the shagging, of course, but there’s also Bond’s personal project of trying to make sure that Q knows enough self-defence to, at least, not die because of something stupid.

What this accomplishes, Bond quickly learns, is more the two of them one-upping each other, than it is any actual help. Maybe that isn’t too bad either; Bond finds that he’s having fun.

 

One afternoon he finds Q in the Q-branch kitchen, fetching a cuppa, and walks up to him unannounced. He pulls his gun on him. 

Q barely looks at him; sends him nothing but the briefest of glances, before he returns to the cup. He pours milk into it first.

“I see you’re still trying to teach me about self-defence,” he says. He’s amused, but it’s so well concealed Bond wouldn’t have known just three weeks ago, before they started this thing. 

“You’d be dead by now,” he says. He doesn’t lower the gun. 

Q continues not to look at him, but pours the hot water into his cup instead. He really doesn’t have to watch the liquid change colour this intensely, but Bond recognises when Q is playing games with him by now.

“Hm,” Q says. He adds two sugars to the cup, and stirs with a spoon. “Fire it.”

Bond can barely hide his smirk; he will never admit it out loud, but he quite likes being outsmarted by Q. Still, he turns the gun to himself instead of Q. Q notices.

“Don’t you trust me?” he asks. Bond doesn’t know if Q thinks Bond considers himself the more expendable of the two because of their relative importance to MI6, or because of his own emotions. Bond isn’t even sure of why himself.

Bond turns the gun back to Q. Pulls the trigger. Fires the gun.

Nothing happens. Of course nothing happens. 

“It’s a blank,” Bond says. They probably all are. He throws the gun to the table, and smiles to himself. As he said; he likes being outsmarted. It makes him want to push Q up against the counter and kiss his neck until Q asks to be taken to a quiet spot and kissed properly. 

“When’d you do it?” he asks instead. 

Finally Q turns to him. He sips his tea as he raises a brow at Bond. It’s a challenge – he probably recognised the on-the-way-to-arousal look on Bond’s face. It’s the kind of expression that will always be able to rile Bond up, to make him want to do foolish things just to prove Q wrong. Or, even worse, prove him right; impress him. 

“Last night,” Q says. “While you were busy between my legs. Your libido really will be the death of you.”

Bond does back him up against the counter then, but Q just smiles. It’s amused, but still kept in check the way Q often makes it while they’re at work. 

“You were the one begging for it though,” Bond says; he makes his voice low, drawing out the words. Q takes another sip, which is only barely possible with the limited space between them.

“Well, you are good,” he says. 

When he smiles then, it’s nearing its full capacity. Bond kisses him, to let the rest of it out. 

It’s an almost fail-safe way to turn Q into the soft, grinning creature that Bond knows he can be. It’s not that he’s unable to resist Bond’s advances or is irresistibly compelled to surrender, Bond has quickly realised. It is simply that he seems to find the whole business of being kissed appealingly pleasant, and so doesn’t see a reason not to simply give into it. 

His empty hand is placed at the nape of Bond’s neck, tugging a little at the small hairs he finds there. Bond can’t resist the temptation to put his hand up under Q’s shirt, and press it against the naked skin of Q’s hip. When he does, Q’s smile turns into one of those large, generous ones of his. Bond presses in a bit closer, just because he’s allowed. 

“I’ll come over tonight and do it again,” he says, when they eventually pull back. 

Q is now leaning all of his weight on one leg and the counter behind him, and is a lot more languorous than just moments before. Perhaps Bond should write a memo to the branch: “Is your boss annoyed or angry? Just kiss him. It works like magic on him – practically guaranteed success.”

“Hm,” Q says. Bond’s hands are resting on the counter behind him, on either side of his hips, capturing him within his grip. Q doesn’t try to break free. “Stop trying to shoot me.”

Bond pretends to consider it before he replies:

“No.”

Q rolls his eyes, but doesn’t look particularly miffed. Not yet, at least. He might when Bond proceeds to grab the cup from Q’s grip, and upends it into the sink. 

“What are you doing?” Q asks. Bond was right; he does sound vexed now. Bond opens the fridge next to them without letting go of Q, and pulls out a sandwich from it.

“You should eat,” he says. “You’ll never be able to win in hand-to-hand combat if all you consume if caffeinated liquid.”

When Q refuses to accept the food, Bond puts it into the pocket of his cardigan instead. The softness in Q’s face has been taken over by the tight lines of annoyance. 

“I hate you,” he says. He doesn’t say it like he actually does, but he says it like he’s close. Bond, if he is completely honest, mostly finds it a bit endearing.

He touches the space behind Q’s earlobe, where he has learned Q is most sensitive. Q shivers when he does, and momentarily closes his eyes in pleasure and leans in to Bond’s body, but then he seems to remember that he is supposed to be upset, and instead knees Bond in the thigh. 

It makes Bond chuckle, and want to kiss him. He’s pretty sure he’d be kneed in the balls too, if he tried that right now though, so he kisses Q’s cheek instead before he pulls back.

“That’s all right,” he says. “As long as you eat.”

Q rolls his eyes and pushes past him, but he takes the food with him, so Bond deems his mission rather successful, really. He watches Q leave with a smile on his face.

__

He’s away for one and a half weeks on a mission where his radio falls into the sea during hand-to-hand combat on a boat with a man trying to steal back the file Bond has just acquired. His gun is lost when he throws it after a man to knock him out. 

He finds Q at his flat – he breaks in this time – sleeping in the bedroom. He hasn’t yet been allowed to sleep in Q’s bed, but now is as good a time as any, right? Either way, he crawls into Q’s bed next to him, and tugs a little at the covers. Q grunts.

“What do you think you’re doing?” he mumbles. His voice is groggy, and he does not sound pleased. Bond must have woken him up then.

“Sleeping with you,” Bond says. Q’s grip on the duvet has loosened a little, so he is able to pull it over to his side, and over himself. 

“Did you bring back my equipment intact?” Q asks. Judging by his tone, he must know the answer.

“I thought you knew what this isn’t,” Bond says. It’s an inside joke about their first night together, but Q seemingly doesn’t care; at least he tugs the duvet back, and turns his back to Bond. 

“Go away,” he says. “My duvet isn’t big enough for two, and you haven’t been kind enough for me to overlook that and let you stay yet.”

Bond smiles; he finds Q rather captivating, actually. He probably shouldn’t tell him that, if he wants to keep his extremities, but he is. Even when he is curled into a ball and turned away from Bond, and his entire demeanour is grumpy. His hair – the only part of him that Bond can actually see – is a bloody mess. 

Bond moves across the mattress until he is nearly curled around Q’s back. He takes Q’s earlobe between his lips, and grazes his teeth against it. The tension leaves Q’s shoulders, and his muscles become relaxed. Bond kisses him behind his ear. 

“You’re so annoying,” Q says. He sounds like he means the exact opposite. When Bond kisses his jaw from behind, he smiles, and it’s soft.

“I’ll be more careful next time,” Bond says. Q turns his head to the side so their lips can meet. It’s an awkward angle, but Bond kisses him anyway. He puts his arm around Q’s body, and runs his index finger over the dip between Q’s collarbones. 

“No, you won’t,” Q says. He presses his body into Bond’s though, so he must not care. 

“No, I won’t,” Bond agrees. It makes Q smile, which psych would probably have something to say about. Bond finds that thought comforting; at least he isn’t the only one here who might be slightly screwed up.

“Repay me?” Q says. He seems relatively awake now, and also a lot less grumpy. He’s still soft and pliant in Bond’s arms though. 

Bond kisses the back of his neck, and runs his hand down Q’s chest and stomach and back up again. He repeats this a couple of times, until Q kicks his shin. It’s a request for Bond to stop teasing. Normally, Bond might have taken this as a provocation to keep teasing, but tonight he doesn’t want to; Q has put up with him enough already, so he should probably just give him this. 

So he puts his hand down Q’s pants, and Q sighs softly and leans into Bond’s body, as Bond wanks him off, slow and steady. He kisses Q’s temple, as his eyebrows furrow and his body becomes tense with the building arousal. 

He doesn’t do any of his tricks or teasing, but simply touches Q until he begins sighing deeply and panting in-between, until he begins whimpering softly, until he breathes out Bond’s name. Until the arousal hits its peak and he is pushed over the edge of it, spilling himself all over Bond’s hands and his sheets. 

He keeps touching Q’s stomach afterwards, and his chest, and ignores his own arousal in favour of touching Q until he goes all soft and smiley in Bond’s arms again. Q doesn’t seem to agree with that though, because he turns around in Bond’s arms, and moves his hand down Bond’s pants to repay him. 

“You don’t have to,” Bond says. Q shakes his head though, and pushes Bond’s pants down enough to let Bond’s cock out from its confinement. 

“Move my hand yourself,” he says. He creates a circle with his index finger and thumb, and tightens it around Bond, but doesn’t do anything else until Bond grabs the back of his hand and starts moving it for him. 

“Why this?” Bond says. He isn’t surprised when his voice is hoarse and lower than usual, but it makes Q smile smugly.

“Because you like it when I allow you to do whatever you’d like and just give in to it.”

He’s not wrong. Bond keeps moving Q’s hand on him, instructing him on when to tighten and loosen his grip, until his own body starts becoming tense with the arousal. Surprisingly it’s Q who’s the most vocal, as he hums into Bond’s cheek and presses kisses down it. It’s the intimacy of it, of their eye-contact and closeness and hands moving together, that really does it for Bond and pushes him over the edge. 

Q keeps kissing him then, until calmness is back surrounding them, and there is no tension left in any of them. 

“If you hog the covers,” he pulls back to say eventually, “I will tell on you to M and Tanner, and I’ll rig your equipment to cause you mild distress during your next three missions.”

Bond chuckles, but is stuck between the feeling of being the one who knows Q the best, and the feeling of not having him figured out at all; Q is a complicated man. In the end he kisses Q’s temple and lets him turn out the lights.

“Only mild distress?” he asks, once they’re in the dark and he is once again curled around Q’s back, now with an added bonus of the duvet. He feels more than sees Q smiling.

“You see, you should only make believable threats,” he says. “That way you’ll actually be taken seriously.” 

Bond tries not to think too hard about what that means.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Would they ever stop finding it hilarious to annoy and rile each other up? Probably not.


	3. Chapter 3

**3rd tip: Show interest in their interests, likes and friends**

It’s safe to say that neither he nor Q have regular 9 to five jobs. That be said, Bond is surprised to find that Q is, in fact, more likely to be interrupted during his time off because of the work. Bond goes through period of intensive work (missions) and periods of intense downtime (no missions). Q works all the time, and is awoken during the night probably half of the time he even goes home for the night, which is a rarity in itself. 

Sleeping in Q’s bed after sex, means that Bond, too, becomes used to being awoken at ungodly hours by a phone ringing loudly and Q’s limbs flailing as he is forcefully pulled out of sleep and into consciousness, trying to find the phone. 

Sometimes Q has to go in to HQ. Whenever that happens, Bond simply rolls to his other side and ignores Q, going back to sleep instead. Sometimes Q is just required to look at something on his laptop, though, and he will do this – like he hinted at the first time he and Bond met – in his pyjamas (which are just pants and a tee, but still). 

Occasionally Bond will sleep through that as well, but more often than not he will be unable to. He quickly becomes the designated tea brewer, which, all right, he can probably live with.

What he can’t live with, however, is coming back into the bedroom to a Q who starts blabbering on about code to him. Firstly, Bond understands exactly none of it. Secondly, he has no interest in understanding it either. 

The first two nights this happens, he ignores it. The third, however, he can’t. He hands Q his cuppa, and gets back on the bed. He sits on his knees in front of Q and leans into him, kissing him once, with hard lips. 

“Please,” he says, when he pulls back. “Stop talking.”

Q, to his surprise, reacts with laughter. Quite gleeful laughter, too; it reverberates off the walls, and his grin is one of his large ones. 

“I wondered how long you’d let that go on for before shutting me up,” he says. 

He goes back to typing – lines of code that Bond will never care to grasp – but the smile remains on his face. He is infuriating. He is a bloody idiot. Bond is, possibly, quite the fool for him. 

“Make no mistake,” Bond says, instead of vocalising any of that, “I was planning my revenge already.”

Q just smiles. When Bond lies back down next to him, but this time has his feet near the pillows, and his head near Q’s crossed legs, Q buries his hand in Bond’s hair and scratches his head. 

Eventually he goes back to typing, so Bond curls his lying body around Q’s sitting one, and tugs at the fine hairs he finds on Q’s thighs. Q mostly ignores him.

He finds that he can’t let go of Q’s reaction; he can’t let go of his laughter. Somehow it means something, that that is his response; that he doesn’t react to Bond’s lack of care with anger but with understanding. 

Perhaps, Bond thinks, it means that Bond doesn’t have to lie. The psych team would have a field day with the fact that Bond’s reaction to that idea is surprised disbelief. He has never been able to imagine having something romantic, something long-term, without having to mould himself into something only vaguely similar to who he really is. Let alone without having to lose MI6, he thinks. 

He’s never before had someone say, ‘You don’t have to change. I know you, and I like that you. You don’t have to be something else.’

“You sure look thoughtful,” Q says. It interrupts Bond’s thought process, but he doesn’t mind. When he looks up, Q is watching him with a gentle expression; in fact, it is almost tender. “Are you planning your revenge right now?” he asks.

Bond kisses Q’s knee, before he turns to his back next to him. Q runs a finger down in a line over Bond’s face; over his forehead, between his eyebrows, down the bridge of his nose, to his lips, where it stays and presses softly. Bond opens them, and grazes his teeth lightly against it. 

“I read spy novels sometimes,” he says. Q presses his lips together, like in an effort not to smile, but it’s glinting in his eyes anyway. Bond opens his mouth completely, and sucks down Q’s finger. Q’s expression instantly turns into something more mischievous. 

“If you’re thinking of making me read a factually inaccurate one as payback, then I’ll congratulate you on your torture skills because that would quite literally be anguish.”

Bond grins. Q removes his finger in an effort not to be bitten and dries it off in Bond’s shirt. Somehow it means something that Q doesn’t feel like he has to lie either.

Bond takes Q’s hand, and kisses the back of it. Q smiles at the caress, but tenses his eyebrows a little, like he does when he’s confused. 

“I think there’s some subtext in there I didn’t really get,” he says. Bond chuckles and kisses his hand again. 

“Nothing important,” he says. It isn’t; what’s important is that Q is, quite possibly, just as unbalanced, nonsensical and foolhardy as himself. 

Q allows Bond not to talk, which Bond is, also, grateful for. He simply shrugs and puts his hand shortly to Bond’s cheek.

“All right,” he says. Bond is definitely a fool for him.

__

Not long after, Moneypenny joins him as he walks across the cobblestone stones of the courtyard leading from medical – where he had to get a few stitches remade – to Q-branch – where, well, Q is; she has a file in her hands, but holds back on handing it to him. 

“Moneypenny,” he greets her. He doesn’t stop in his tracks, but she’s used to that by now; she just follows him.

“Be kind to him,” she says. Cutting to the chase, then. They reach the door to the stairwell, and Bond holds it open for her before he enters himself.

“I’m always kind,” he says. This is not entirely true, so he adds: “To him.”

She seems to be considering this for rather a while, before she, eventually, nods once to herself. Bond honestly doesn’t mind terribly that he’s being forced to have this conversation; at least that means someone is there to care about Q.

“Not untrue,” she says, at last. They stop in their tracks before they enter Q-branch through the glass door, through which Bond can see the minions working. Q is out of sight. Bond shrugs to her comment. She hands him the file.

“Maybe you’ll be good for him,” she says. Bond is not sure if he agrees with that statement or not.

“Maybe he’ll be good for me,” he says, instead. Moneypenny smirks, and turns slightly as if about to leave.

“That’s not a ‘maybe’ statement,” she says, and then she does go. Bond watches her back leaving only for a moment, before he opens the glass door, and steps inside the branch. 

The thing is: She’s probably right.  


* * *

  
**4th tip: Spend increasingly more time with them, and become a part of their lives**

Bond is away on a mission for a month. 

Well, technically it is three missions, but they are in quick succession to one another, so Bond never makes it home. He has Q in his ear from time to time, but it’s got nothing on actually being able to touch Q’s skin, or have Q’s legs around his hips. It’s got nothing on actually being able to see Q’s smile. 

He doesn’t think that he’s alone in feeling the effects of being apart. When Q is the one to be guiding him through his earpiece, he will often stay later than what is strictly necessary. Sometimes he talks, and Bond talks back. Sometimes they just have each other’s breathing to listen to while they do other stuff. 

Knowing how this is affecting Q is almost worse than feeling the effect himself, Bond thinks. Some things are a lot easier when nobody cares about you.

During one evening of downtime, where Bond has to go trace the target the following afternoon and so doesn’t have anything to do, Q stays in his ear for an hour and talks to him about things that don’t really matter, because it’s easier than talking about the things that do. Bond sits on the edge of his bed with a glass of scotch and, when it is finished, lies down on the bed instead.

Eventually, when there’s nothing else to say, they fall into silence. Bond listens to Q breathing through the earpiece, but it’s different than usual; heavier. Bond puts his hands to his own stomach, to feel it move with his own breathing. 

“Have I ever told you that I used to be into snakes?” he asks. It’s a diversion tactic; Q must know. He chuckles though, although it is more a huff of breath than anything. 

“No,” he says. “But please do tell.”

So Bond does. He talks to Q about his childhood love for snakes; the kind of love that you nurtured before you knew of any of life’s hardships. It’s there, the edge of it; all of the things he’s since been through. It’s in his phrasing, he knows, and he knows that Q knows. But, as always, Q allows him to do things in his own pace; Bond doesn’t tell, so Q doesn’t pressure him to. 

Eventually the sound of Q’s breathing starts evening out in Bond’s ear. It gets heavier, too, but this time not like he’s sad but like he’s falling into sleep. 

“Q,” Bond says. He’s smiling to himself, he discovers.

“Mm?” Q sounds groggy and, really, barely there.

“Go lie down. Sleep.”

Bond looks up at his own white ceiling, as he listens to the scrambling on the other end meaning that Q is moving around. He must still be in his office; it hasn’t sounded like he’s moved since he guided Bond through a rough patch of the mission earlier. 

“They’ll let you borrow a bed in medical,” Bond says. Q hums, and there’s the sound of more scrambling. It seems he agrees with Bond’s suggestion though. 

“I’ll have to leave you behind,” Q says. It sounds reluctant, but it also sounds so tired that Bond is not about to suggest that Q stay with him any longer. “You didn’t finish telling me about your snake love.”

“I’ll tell you another time,” Bond says. He can’t contain his own grin. Sleepy Q is rather endearing.

“I’d rather you gave me a blowjob,” Q says. Bond chuckles, and delights in it when Q chuckles back; his sleepiness making it low and hoarse. Smooth, Bond thinks. Like it weaves itself around Bond’s body and warms him up.

“You can have both,” he says. It doesn’t pass his notice how much like, well … dating, this is. It doesn’t pass his notice how he doesn’t mind.

“Deal,” Q says. Bond wishes he could kiss him. He touches the silk sheets beneath his own body instead, and lets that sensation stand in for what he can’t have right now. “Night, now.”

“Night, Q,” Bond says. He waits until he hears the tell-tale beep of the connection shutting off, before he says, “I miss you.”

__

So, at first, Bond isn’t able to adhere to the tip, but then he comes back, finds Q in his office, and kisses him despite the fact that people can see them, and he starts to. Q stops pretending to want to throw him out of the bed after sex, and Bond starts coming by the branch rather often.

He’s positive it’s all going to be all right. Until, that is, he shags someone else.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the part of the story I like to call wow-Bond-is-confused-but-look-at-him-realising-stuff. And, hopefully, also still being a complex, complicated human. Did it seem believable?


	4. Chapter 4

**5th tip: Become exclusive to each other**

It’s not a voluntary decision, per se, the shagging, but it’s not like it’s non-consensual either. It’s a part of the job. 

He’s on a brief mission; his single goal is to get a file from one of their targets. By far the easiest way is by wooing his wife. It’s not like this isn’t something Bond has done a million times before, and it’s not even like he finds it particularly uncomfortable, despite or regardless of Q. 

It’s just that he’s a bit nervous Q won’t be able to look at it that way. They haven’t discussed what they are yet, but Bond hasn’t slept in a hotel room for over a month, and they’re starting to move into we-don’t-even-have-sex-all-the-time territory, although this is probably mostly because Bond comes over more, and his libido can’t exactly withstand constant shagging. 

Despite the fact that Bond has been unable to follow almost all of the rules they are, somewhat, dating. 

He’s wined and dined the wife, and she is starting to run her foot up the seams of his trousers, when Q’s voice appears in his ear:

“How uncomfortable would you be if I listened along?”

Bond rakes his brain for something he can say to Q, that won’t alert the woman in front of him that something is off. In the end, he grabs her foot from where it is travelling upwards, and says,

“You shouldn’t do that.”

Q chuckles, and it makes Bond unable to hear what the woman tells him in reply. He doesn’t care.

“Nice,” Q says. “Not this time then.”

Bond can’t really reply, what with the situation he’s in. He can’t even hum grumpily. Q seems to find this greatly amusing. 

“Anyway,” he says. “I just wanted to wish you a good time. Enjoy it. Think of me if she doesn’t do it for you.”

It takes all of Bond’s willpower not to grunt with annoyance in reply. Q is distracting him and also, well, getting him aroused. Q is bloody infuriating, that’s what he is. He’s also confusing; is he pretending not to mind, or does he really not mind? Bond doesn’t know. 

“Break a leg,” Q says. Bond shifts slightly in his chair. The earpiece goes quiet, but it doesn’t give its tell-tale beep of having been shut off, so Bond is suspicious. When the woman looks away, he takes it out and crushes it against the table, before putting it in his jacket pocket. 

He shags her and, honestly, doesn’t hate it. In fact, he rather enjoys it. He’s not sure what this means; he thought being into someone meant you didn’t want to be with other people? 

He gets the file, easily enough, and spends the entirety of the flight home wondering if his enjoyment of the sex means that whatever feelings he is developing for Q isn’t real. 

Q does not seem to have had the same concerns. 

As soon as Bond enters his office he looks up, and his expression is vexed. For a moment Bond thinks it really did ruin everything, that he had sex with someone else, but then Q says,

“You broke my equipment. Not even by accident. You broke it on purpose.”

Bond smiles; mostly in relief. This is a very bad idea, it turns out, because Q scowls at him. Bond just smiles some more; it’s not Q’s actual-anger expression – that one is taut and closed off – it’s simply his expression of a-little-more-than-normal-annoyance. 

“You were going to listen in on me having sex,” he retorts. Q just shrugs; this is apparently not a big deal. 

“Did you get the file?” he asks instead of replying. 

Bond dangles the USB-stick chain from his index finger. Q’s scowl becomes a satisfied smile when he sees it. He holds out his hand, palm facing upwards, so Bond walks the two steps up to him, and places it there. 

“Thank you,” Q says. 

Bond is on the opposite side of his desk now, but Q beckons him closer with a nod of the head. When Bond walks around the desk, Q turns his chair around, so he is turned towards Bond. When he looks up, his smile is so soft Bond thinks he could melt into it. This is, also, surprising; apparently Bond is easily forgiven today.

Q’s curls are a mess, and his shirt is a bit wrinkled in the way it becomes when afternoon turns into evening; it’s a little past ten pm now. His glasses are slightly askew on his nose, and the circles underneath his eyes are a bit dark, but he looks otherwise pleased.

Bond wants to kiss him, so he does. He cups Q’s cheek between his palms, and leans in to press their lips together; so softly it’s barely there. 

“Hm,” Q says. He shimmers a little in his seat, like he is exuberant. “Are you going to take me home or what?”

Bond does. In the car, Q keeps his hand on Bond’s shoulder and caresses the nape of Bond’s neck with light touches. 

“I’m a bit surprised,” Bond says eventually, “that you don’t mind at all.”

“About the equipment?” Q asks. “I do mind.” 

Bond smiles. Q knows what he’s talking about, at least if you judge by the mischievous smirk he sends Bond; he’s just trying to rile him up. He’s being deliberately provocative. It makes Bond fond. 

“No,” he says, still. “About the sex.”

“Ah,” Q says. They both know he already knew, but he plays out the surprise anyway. Bond doesn’t even try to hide his smile. “I don’t mind,” Q continues. 

“No?” Bond asks. “Because it’s the work?”

Q shrugs. Bond turns down the street that leads to Q’s apartment complex, but still has the capacity to glance at Q; he isn’t a good driver for nothing. 

“Even if it wasn’t,” Q says. This is, possibly, the most surprising thing he’s said yet. 

“Really?” Bond asks. Q shrugs again, just as Bond parks the car. He stays in his seat after turning off the ignition, and turns fully to be able to watch Q. 

“We don’t need to be exclusive,” Q says then. Judging by his tone, this seems to not be a very big deal to him. “In fact, I’m not sure I want us to be.”

“Oh,” Bond says. 

He leans back into his seat, and turns from Q’s face to watch the bush they are parked in front of instead. He’s never considered this as an option, which, perhaps, he really should have. He’s always thought of relationships as being strictly monogamous. 

“I mean,” Q says. He stirs a little, and settles in to watch Bond better, “I’d need there to be some sort of rules. But generally, then I don’t see why we can’t also shag other people. Have you ever heard of anyone who successfully managed a monogamous relationship in the long-term and didn’t get sick of each other?”

There are several things about that sentence that stands out to Bond. The rules, and the opposite of monogamy suggested but, perhaps especially, long-term. 

“Tanner and his wife?” is what he actually says. 

Q chuckles. “They’re the exception. You see my point, right?” 

Bond shrugs. He does; he really does. He smirks as Q grins and undoes his seatbelt, before he crawls over the gearshift and into Bond’s lap. As Q’s fingers press into the nape of Bond’s neck, Bond’s fingers press into the soft spot right over Q’s hips. 

Q kisses his jaw then, softly and with a smile still on his face, and every doubt Bond had about if wanting other people sexually meant he didn’t like Q as much as he though vanishes; possibly, he likes Q more than he imagined himself. 

“Rules?” he says. Q hums; pleased. Probably because it seems Bond is convinced. He presses himself in closer to Bond’s body, and kisses his neck for a bit. Bond twists his head to give him ultimate access. 

“Yes,” Q says eventually. “I want to know whenever you’ve shagged someone else. I don’t know, it’s an honesty thing.”

“Okay,” Bond agrees. Q seems to be encouraged, because he moves back a bit so their eyes can meet. 

“I don’t want to sacrifice time with you for time with someone else, so it’d be when one of us is away,” he continues. “And it should always be with a condom.”

“Yes,” Bond says. “I agree.” 

Q kisses him. He tries to pull away after a brief moment, but Bond grabs his cheeks, and makes him stay just a little longer. Partly, he is grateful, for it all. Q allows him, and hums into it. 

“That’s it,” he says, when he pulls back eventually. “Anything to add?” Bond shakes his head. “Good. Deal, then?”

Bond kisses him again. This time it is fevered, and it suddenly becomes very aggravating that they are still in the car. Q giggles as Bond tries to get him closer, but fails, in the small confined space they’re in. 

“Deal,” Bond says. 

“Good,” Q says. “Take me up and shag me then.”

Bond does. And okay, maybe he spends a little more time teasing Q that usually, and maybe it has something to do with showing Q that, while he could definitely find other and good sexual partners, none of them will ever be able to do to him what Bond does. 

Q definitely has him figured out. He hums in content pleasure anyway, so Bond thinks he probably doesn’t mind. 

Bond, possibly, might be in love with him for it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thoughts on exclusivity and 00Q or just exclusivity in general?


	5. Chapter 5

**6th tip: Confess emotions of love**

Some weeks later, one late evening, Tanner calls Bond into his office, and, since there are no missions on his radar currently, Bond thinks he can figure out what it is going to be about.

When Bond enters the room, Tanner is looking through a file, opened on the desk in front of him. Bond recognises it immediately; it’s the file on Vesper. Without saying anything, he takes a seat across from Tanner, and waits until Tanner looks up at him. 

“Bond,” Tanner greets him.

“Tanner.”

Tanner nods, once, in greeting. He closes the file in front of him then, but pushes the small pile of them across the table and over to Bond. Bond doesn’t have to look to be able to figure out what they are. 

“Any reason why we’re digging up history today?” he asks. Tanner turns his head to the side a little, getting a considering expression on his face. He sighs then, and sends Bond a reassuring smile.

“You know why,” he says. 

Bond shrugs. He leans back in his seat, and crosses his hands on his stomach, stretching out his legs under the table.

“M wants me to make sure that you’re not planning on running away from MI6 again,” Tanner continues. Instead of mirroring Bond’s relaxed pose, he sits up straighter. “You do have an appalling history of loyalty when it comes to you being in love.”

“What does that mean?” Bond asks. Tanner sends him a glare; Bond knows what it means, and Tanner knows that.

“It means that you’ve consistently left the Service for your romantic partners.”

Bond purses his lips, and thinks; it is true. It’s true and he’s thought about it already. He’s thought about how the burning, fiery, crashing passion of his earlier relationships have always required him to leave the work. He’s thought about how Q is different, too; how there’s passion, sure, but also consistency and understanding; the possibility of not having to change.

“Yes,” Bond says, to Tanner. Tanner smiles, a little.

“So,” he says. “Are you and Q planning on running away to, I don’t know – Rome?”

Bond allows the corners of his lips to tug upwards. Tanner is joking about Vesper and Venice. He sits up a bit straighter, and does send Tanner a look, just for good measure. 

“Thailand, I should think,” he says. Tanner chuckles, because what he’s actually doing is rejecting the idea and saying, ‘We’re staying.’ 

“All right,” Tanner says. He opens a drawer, and pulls some papers out, but continues, “I don’t think Q would like Rome either,” before he hands it over. It means, ‘Q is more loyal to us than you ever were.’ Bond smiles.

“I think you’re right,” he says. When Tanner hands the blank paperwork over, Bond takes it without hesitance. 

“That’s the paperwork you’ll need to file to report your relationship,” Tanner says, as he gestures to the papers now in Bond’s hands. “There’s some for Q, too. Some of it is to give you rights if the other should come under harm, but most of it is for SIS management and M, because they want to know your alliances.”

Bond nods, and stands up. He holds the papers in his hands, and thinks about things becoming official. 

“Tell Q,” Tanner says, before Bond leaves, “that this doesn’t mean he’s allowed to make you exploding pens now. Or another exploding watch. In fact, this means he’ll be kept very far away from explosives.”

Bond doesn’t try to hide his smile, but rolls his eyes. “You’re making me a very unappealing partner to him now, then,” he says. 

Tanner snorts. He returns his attention to whatever work he was doing before he had to handle Bond, lying discarded on the desk. 

“Fat chance,” he says. 

Bond leaves with a smile on his face.

__

Q isn’t in his branch, but Bond finds him in the common showers. Three of the agents are going out during the next week, so Q has been too busy to go home. Bond has spent a lot of time making sure Q eats and gets just two hours of sleep during a twenty-four-hour period. 

He enters the shower room still clothed, and watches Q for a moment, naked and with his back turned to Bond. Q is massaging shampoo into his hair, and then starts making two spikes out of his wet hair. Bond smiles to himself. 

“Are you going to join me?” Q asks then, into the room. Of course he knows that Bond is there. 

Bond does. Q turns around to watch, as Bond takes his clothes off, and smirks once Bond rids himself of his pants and is completely naked. Bond simply walks up to him, and grabs him by his jaw.

“You shouldn’t stare. It’s impolite,” he says. Q continues smirking and wriggles a little against Bond’s body, so Bond kisses him. Q pushes himself into it. 

“Hm,” he mumbles. When they pull apart, Q’s nose nudges Bond’s cheek instead. “What did Tanner say?” he asks.

Bond smirks. Of course Q bloody knew where he was. Q probably also knows exactly what was said; he probably has it on recording, too. 

“Don’t you already know?” he says. Q’s smug smile confirms his suspicion. 

Bond pushes him back under the spray of water in revenge, so the shampoo runs from his hair and down his face and chest. Before Q can do it himself, Bond puts his hands into Q’s hair and runs them through it, massaging his scalp, to help all the shampoo out of it. Q keeps smiling. 

“You’re right,” he says, once all the shampoo is gone and he won’t get it in his mouth. Bond lets him move away from the spray a bit. 

“Hm?”

“I wouldn’t want Rome,” Q says. “I would, however, love to make you an exploding pen. Just to defy Tanner.”

Bond chuckles. With Q, he’s almost certain that it isn’t an empty promise; he will make Bond something explosive, just because he can, and just to show Tanner that he’s able to sneak anything by them. He does have a thing for asserting his intellectual dominance, Q does. 

Q takes the shampoo bottle between his hands then, and squeezes some out. When he reaches out for Bond’s head, Bond lets him, so Q ends up washing his hair. It feels wonderful, this, Bond decides; having someone else’s hands massaging your scalp. He leans into it, and closes his eyes. 

When he does, he hears Q chuckling softly. When Q leans in to press two soft kisses to the bones beneath Bond’s eyes, just to be affectionate, Bond decides that he doesn’t mind being a fool for Q.

“I think,” he says, “that what we can take away from the Tanner conversation is that you’re a grounding influence on me, instead of a destructive one.”

When Bond opens his eyes, Q’s smile is so large it takes Bond’s breath away. Q leans in then, to kiss him, despite the shampoo-water running down Bond’s cheeks and the risk of tasting it. Bond’s hands come up to cup his hips.

“Thank you,” Q says. He stays be Bond’s mouth, and kisses the corner of it.

“Thank you?”

“That’s all I’ve wanted to know,” Q says. When he continues, his tone of voice changes, and he sounds mostly teasing: “I never wanted to be another Vesper. Or Doctor Swan. Or … who else?”

Bond cuts him off by backing him up against the wet, tiled wall behind them, but Q just giggles in delight, even when Bond’s grip on his hips tighten enough to be a bit painful.

“Shut up,” Bond says. Q laughs; it echoes loudly in the large, tiled room. The sound of it makes Bond laugh, as well.

“Hm,” Q says. He pulls Bond in closer, until their bodies are pressed together, and kisses him again, shortly. “I might be falling in love with you.”

Bond can barely contain his delight; it bubbles and boils in him, getting over the edges and overflowing him with the feeling of affection. Q chuckles again, when he sees Bond’s expression, and touches his jaw.

“Is that all right?” he asks. He can barely speak, for all of his grinning. Bond loves him.

“Certainly,” he says. He kisses Q’s jaw, when his mouth is all beaming teeth. “I should think so.”

Q chuckles again. He leans against the wall behind him, and hums with delight when Bond pulls back a bit to kiss down his neck. Q’s hands come up to rest on the back of his head, but don’t press him closer; they’re just there; comfort. 

“Is that your way of saying you might be falling for me, too?” he asks. 

There’s amusement in there somewhere, but also affection. Bond kisses his lips, once, and then the place beside his nose. He stays there, as he says,

“I am quite fond of you.” Q grins, and cups Bond’s cheeks to pull him in closer.

“I’ll take it,” he says. Then he closes the space between them.

 

So, okay: Maybe Bond gets this one right

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ayy, look at them go. Did you feel like the confession was IC enough? I'm still attempting to get them right.


	6. Chapter 6

**Postscript: Start talking about a future together**

Bond wakes up one winter morning to the smell of coffee mingling with the smell of their sweat, and the feeling of Q’s nose nuzzling into Bond’s side over his rib, before a kiss is placed there. 

Bond smiles to himself, and hums in content. This signals that he is awake to Q, who promptly comes up to kiss the underside of Bond’s jaw.

“Hi,” Q says; mumbles, really, as his mouth is mostly occupied with pressing kisses up the side of Bond’s face and up to his temple. Bond’s smile grows fonder. 

“Hey,” he says. 

“Hm.” 

Q’s leg is thrown over Bond’s body, and then Q is lying on top of him. Bond puts his hands lightly to Q’s hips, and opens his eyes. When he does, he is met with the sight of Q’s unruly curls; they’re the only visible part of him, because he’s now licking and brushing his lips over the dip between Bond’s collarbones.

“You didn’t wake me when you came home last night,” Q says. He pushes his feet into Bond’s shin, probably in revenge, because they’re freezing. 

“You didn’t wake up when I joined you, so I thought you were probably exhausted.”

Q raises his head, so their eyes can lock. He’s beaming, and has that soft, messy look about him that he gets in the mornings. Bond cups his cheek, and delights in it when Q pushes his face into the touch. 

“Well, it was quite hard to keep you out of mortal danger this time,” Q says. 

Bond wondered if they’d talk about that. There had been not one, but two close calls during the just-over mission. To Bond they’re only a reminder of what he’s always thought as the inevitable end to his career: death; ‘agent down’. 

“Sorry,” Bond says. Q simply shrugs. He rests his head on Bond’s chest, so Bond runs a hand through his hair. “How are you?”

“All right,” Q says. His tone is more subdued now; more sombre.

“I might die one day, you know,” Bond says. Strangely, this wasn’t a thing he considered very deeply before entering into this with Q; the risk of having to leave him again too soon. 

“We’re all going to die someday,” Q says. It’s heavy and taut, and Bond is pretty sure that doesn’t mean it’s okay.

“You know what I mean, though,” Bond says. “I might not reach retirement.”

Q is silent for a while, so Bond keeps running a hand through his hair, and scratches his scalp. Their breathing is calm, but the mood has turned sober. Eventually, after what feels like minutes, Q raises his head on his crossed arms, and looks at Bond; his expression solemn.

“You’re old, Bond,” he says. It tugs a little at the corners of Bond’s lips. “You don’t have very long left in the field.”

“Oh?” Bond says. He runs his flat palms up Q’s sides, and back down to his hips. He doesn’t mind being told this; not when it’s from Q. 

“Hm,” Q says. “I think, if we put in a collective effort, we’re able to keep you alive for a few more years.”

It doesn’t even feel like he’s deflecting, trying to keep the seriousness of the risk away from them. It might, Bond thinks, genuinely be possible for him to die sometime in the future, of old age, instead of by gunshot on a mission. 

“And then I’ll buy a cottage and keep bees?” Bond asks. Q smiles, but shakes his head.

“Don’t be silly,” he says. “You could never leave MI6. You’ll just get a desk-job and be able to annoy me all the time.”

Bond grimaces, mostly at the thought of doing copious amounts of paperwork. Q sees, and chuckles. He rubs his body closer into Bond’s, and kisses the underside of his chin. 

“I’ll make you something explosive as an incentive,” he says. “And let you shag me in empty corridors.” 

Bond chuckles but, if he really considers it, it doesn’t actually sound so bad. He’s never imagined he could be allowed to have a life like that. He never imagined he’d once want it. But, he finds, he does. 

“You’re certainly persuasive,” he says. Q grins; anything would be worth it, just to see him smile like that. Bond leans up to catch Q’s lips in a kiss. Q smiles into it. 

“Good,” he says, when they move back apart. “That’s a deal, then.”

“Hm,” Bond says. He smiles to himself when Q dips down to kiss his neck, and it turns seductive. Certainly, he could manage to live with this for a long time. 

“Deal,” he says. 

Q kisses him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is the end. Why don't you do that thing where you tell me your thoughts in the comments? I'd appreciate it greatly!
> 
> You can find me on tumblr at shezzaisgay. It's a Sherlock thing.


End file.
